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Jarkal

A wandering street performer, gambling addict and smooth talker.

0 · 559 views · located in Lósénji Island

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Gasmask

Description

ImageJarkal, Street Performer


Jarkal is a urban busker and has the physique of an agile adventurer with skinny defined muscles. He has neck length black hair that remains as unruly as it was since he was a pup, short black stubble, pointed ears, a thin vestigial tail and clawed hands. Jakal's entire right arm is entrapped with black and white tattoos in classic tribal style a pale coyote on it's haunches about to pounce on a black lion with desert flowers and winds. It is extremely detailed, and hints that it might have taken years to draw upon the flesh. He very much appreciates criticism.

Jarkal's outfit starts off with a simple patched up fabric shirt stitched up with patches of leather, the section of leather on the right breast of the shirt has a few strange bumps, but not enough to be really suspicious of. He also wears two thigh sheaths under a thin belted pair of dark green slacks, two pouches hang on the back of his belt and atop his shirt he wears a large fur jacket made with a lions mane with a few inner pockets, another small sheath and sling for his guitar.

Equipment:

Miniature Lockpicks: A set of small lockpicks made out of thin strips of leather, fossilized maple and dalacite heads.
Garrotte Wire: Thin piano wire primarily used for throttling, not worth mentioning really.
Magical Shackles: Two magical ties that form out of air upon the saying of their name, although Jarkal can summon them, he is not the one that unlocks this pair.
Flashbombs: Inside a pouch are five 20inch ball-bearing size ornate gadgets made out of copper and some sort of fine powder. Upon contact with a surface they explode and should blind anyone in the room.
Smoke Fuses: In another pouch, there are small sticks of powder and long fuses. When struck with fire, they emit a large amount of red colored smoke.
Guitar: A simple acoustic guitar, came with a hand carved guitar pick. No street performer should be without a musical instrument.
X2 Karambit Blades: Two small curved blades with two rings for sliding your fingers though, very agile weapons designed for slashing and tearing. A very deadly weapon with which Jarkal trains everyday with.

Also lint, coiled up rope inside his coat, a deck of playing cards, dice of all kinds, gold dust and a nail file.

So begins...

Jarkal's Story

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#, as written by Gasmask
The performer strolled from the top floor, sliding down the hand-rail with his rail curled around his waist as he jumped off and pulled his puffy pelt coat around his neck tighter and hid his fingers inside his pockets, crossing beside Calvin Radi and tried a swipe at his pockets missing his target and using the weight of that momentum to haul himself onto a seat next to Calvin.

"'Lo." He greeted.

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#, as written by Gasmask
"Him? Well I'm okay with that if he is." The coyote man replied, grinning with his jagged teeth." The tail started to unbuckle his guitar seemingly largely ignored by the two, as they liked referring to he as him and never said Hi. Typical bar goer crowd, all face, no proper talk. The guitar fell and his hands caught it, placing in an order with his now spare tail and getting up.

"If we're talking about fighting in a sense that invokes pride, I bet the two of you fifty coins, that's right coins, none of this useless paper money that I could take the both of you at the same time in cards."

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#, as written by Gasmask
"I think she likes me." Jarkal said rather sarcastically. "Already jumping personal space, wonder if this will go anywhere." The street performer gave Kaliska a wink. The tiniest flicker of his true nature. He adjusted his fur-coat and pulled it open just a crack, revealing a sash of pouches and peculiar looking items and pulling out a deck of cards emblazoned with a J and slid them open on the counter.

"You got some wit, stranger, but she's a little too dom for my tastes and I'm not ready for little J's just yet." Jarkal leaned back and raised an eyebrow at the both of them. "We should have a game anyway, maybe just for kicks?"

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Jarkal shot out a leg in an attempt to catch the chain, if he did, he'd grin at Kaliska and wink.

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"If it's too childish - " The busker stopped himself mid mimic and snickered behind his hand. "If it's a game, it's a game, there is still luck and skill involved therefor by any man's use of childish and card game technically is truth, for who would gamble but idiot children?" Jarkal grinned and started shot out two cards to the both of them. "This is blackjack, the overall goal is to reach 25 points without going over it, you may call a hit in which I give you another card or turn in and see if you beat my draw." He placed the deck down and flipped the two cards he had drawn for himself face down on his knees.

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"Aha'. I'm not a human, bucko', it's 25 in my hometown. Some people find it easier or harder, it depends."

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Jarkal slipped Calvin a card, breathing in a new smell and turned to the creature that had just entered. He lowered his voice to the two beside him. "That thing does not look very thirsty if you know what I mean." The thief opened his two pockets and slipped his tail in one. "I think the both of you lost and I won, therefor you still owe me money." The busker joked loudly.

"Your turn, KK, mind if I call you that?"

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She was either buying time for her turn or casing him out, Jarkal was a little paranoid and pressed by the threat of Excelion, some blood-red monster from the pits of the unlife. He paused, thinking hard on how to go about his ploys and examining the quality of Kaliska's sword, that'd fetch a mean price in the black markets of home, and so would that revolver.

"Sorry, got lost in your eyes." Jarkal said to Kaliska, passing another card to Calvin. "Tell you what, you answer my riddle and I'll tell you."

"I was born to a brothers three, Arl and Carl. Under the nose, our names strike mighty familiar and under your nose, what is it?"

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Jarkal turned around and looked towards Excelion. "Ever thought of clothes, friend? You've got a few really red marks on your face."

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"Hey, I think you lost, got anything to give me? Like a free beer or five cents?" Jarkal said to Calvin and then paused for a second. "Well, I think it's time to go huh, Calvin? Split our ways or go game outside?"

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The busker saluted Calvin. "See you around, maybe I'll catch your name." Jarkal pocketed the coins with his fingers and disappeared up the stairs, running as fast as his feet could take him.

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The thief slipped though a window shortly after Taylor and sticking his head out of it, glancing both ways before withdrawing his head, turning towards the counter and closing it gently with his tail. An old fashioned guitar bobbed on his back, and he was rifling though a wallet that wasn't his, taking a seat next to Taylor giving her the up and down with a sideways glance.

"Nice needles, where'd you get them?" Jarkal said, withdrawing a few golden coins from the wallet and making a guffawing noise at the paper notes inside. More of this useless paper money.

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The thief turned around and hid the wallet he had stolen under his pelted coat just quick enough that anybody paying enough attention might have seen the guilty expression on Jarkal's face. "Ah, maybe, maybe. But a man's weapon is a sacred thing, but I cannot say such things." As the man took a seat next to him he twirled his arm and pulled his coat further around his body.

Taylor's drink was Jarkal's hands, he took a quiet sip and cocked his eyebrow. "A man might get nervous when she draws a weapon nearby." Jarkal said, placing a hand on his thigh and taking another sip of what could've been Taylor's drink. His nature might already be evident to the woman, but Jarkal wasn't exactly hiding it.

"What's your story then, ponytail?"

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"Not your secrets no, a woman's secrets are sacred." The pickpocket winked, thanking her inwardly for not stabbing him on the spot there for stealing her drink, but it did tell him that she was smarter than she looked. "A bard collects stories to tell others, those stories supply him a home to stay, money to spend and a life to live. A man can pay you with anything she wishes for her story." The bard did a funny little bow towards Taylor, his ears twitching.

"Ah but I should introduce myself. I am Jarkal."

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The pickpocket reached forward and shook her hand gently, his hands were not as rough and tough as hers evidently. He looked her in the eye, then looking at the weapons she carried again. "Your scars, your weapons, and your attire. You're a warrior, I am a warrior too, but I have never fought as much as you might have." Jarkal shrugged. "Taylor, the name of a beautiful warrior in a saga I was told about by one of the men here when he was drunk." The bard leaned back in his seat.

"If you're not her, still, you must have a story as sweet as your voice."

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Jarkal chuckled. "No story is happy, all of them have undertones, and don't be humble, there are ladies worse off than you and they never touched the weapons of war." Jarkal said, ever paying the compliment. He bought another Ale with his 'own' money this time and had her drink refilled out of the kindness in his heart.

"The ending is neither the best part of the tale. Who knows, maybe it already has." Jarkal grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. "Would you rather me tell mine first?"

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"Not exactly. Bards are not good at telling their own stories." Jarkal shrugged, and took a small gulp of his own stolen Ale, a slow drinker he was. The bard took his guitar from his back and started to strum a slow song. "Born to a brothers three, in a city that had more scaffolding than buildings, the world was all about survival of the fittest, hands became faster than a fox upon a rabbit. One brother became feral, the other a wandered and the third became a bard, their mother died shortly after each of them had been born and this one was forced out to another land to sing and steal and taught not to do so again." The bard extended a hand which was missing the ring finger, the ugly amputated stump didn't even twitch.

"Then the bard found himself here of all places, to sing again." The song finished with an errant string, sparking out in the bar.

"Told you I wasn't very good."

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As she played his guitar and told her story, he was busy etching it onto every fiber of memory he had left. He had left most of his story untold, it seems that she had gone though more than he had anticipated. Her fighting style sounded similar to his. "Love is a cruel force, you are one that stands with the sad legends of our time, but there is still room for happiness for you, maybe if she stopped hiding. I am the only one who has business hiding." The bard reached to put a hand on her shoulder, easily pushed out of the way if she wished.

"A faceless warrior is the one that never cries or loves and even remembers. You are a legend because of that, so says the bard of the east." Jarkal did a funny little bow again. "Your story is at your hands it seems, but this story seems that there is more to come and in exchange for your story, one simply has to ask a favor."

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Jarkal nodded. "Why even ask? Bards don't." The pickpocket smiled, a friendly one this time. There was something he could trust in that smile, so he figured he'd return the favor. "If it's about missing gold, I can tell you it wasn't m-" The bard went to say, cutting himself off and leaning on the counter with his shoulder and taking another sip of Ale, ordering another refill for himself.

"What's the question, Taylor?" The thief said, raising an eyebrow.

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Jarkal scratched his head. He hadn't seen any Asians since he arrived in town or on the roads here, some birds told him to avoid some roads though where somebody had been walking. "No, and by you mean find, do you mean find as in I want to find the guards or I need to find as in someone important?" The thief said, smiling and taking another sip of ale. "But no, no Asians on my roads nor have I seen any beautiful women. Does she hide her stoniness?"